


The Cage

by Davechicken, ElDiablito_SF



Series: Paradiso [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cages, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Crowley first hears that Castiel has Fallen, his first impulse is to find him to gloat.  The last thing he expected was to so quickly be making another deal with the man who betrayed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cage

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to just be cage porn inspired by the promotional photos, but, alas, it turned into this! (There is still cage porn though.)
> 
> A few warnings: While this is a Crowstiel fic, there are some Destiel feels in the background. For fans of Dean, however, you should know that he's not the protagonist of this piece, and is sometimes referred to in less than flattering terms.

[](http://s892.photobucket.com/user/kronosendoftime/media/CageFinal_zps4537761e.png.html)

Even for the King of Hell, the sudden angel-splosion caused significant disruption (though he would strenuously deny this to anyone who dared ask). You don't just fuck up Heaven without consequences. As such, it took Crowley's network of informants significantly longer than he would have liked to bring him updates on where the key players fell (literally, for once, and not figuratively). Without their wings, and without earthly ties, it turned out angels were like so many faceless, nameless humans. And the world ignored them the same way it did countless children of Adam and Eve. Albeit these children had been around since Adam and Eve were wandering around in the all-together, and were somewhat more powerful, by and large.

One such member of the old Heavenly Host was of special consequence. The lower-ranked would whisper his name and snigger when they thought Crowley couldn't hear. (He often could. They often did not last the night.) _Castiel_. The angel who would be God. The angel who made a deal with the Devil. The angel who didn't so much _Fall_ as... what? Screw over the King of the Soul Train. The angel who now had a demonic target painted squarely across his chest and a growled order of ' _bring him to me_ ' over his head.

And they did. They found him. They found him, and Crowley apparated in as close as he could. He shouldn't have come himself, but he did. He had to. He had to see how the mighty had fallen. Had to... gloat.

"Nice digs," he said, looking over the place. "Reminds me of my first position in Hell, you know. Nice view. Less screaming than I expected, but that could soon be remedied..."

The building was heavily fortified, and it had taken some doing to get in... but whoever had done the protection hadn't planned on a demon coming. Hadn't planned on Crowley. They had, however, made the cage they housed the once-angel in out of iron plated with silver. Which meant that Crowley could look, but not touch. He narrowed his eyes in something close to appreciation of the irony. No pun intended whatsoever.

Castiel already had his back pressed against the furthest confines of the cage, and he reflexively hugged his knees as he watched Crowley approach. He looked… smaller. It wasn’t merely the result of the crouching position in which Crowley had discovered him, although it wasn’t adding anything to the stature, but rather something in the eyes. An emptiness of sorts. A hollow fear where something powerful used to be.

The last time he had seen Crowley, the demon had been fisting Castiel through a hole in his abdomen which the Hell-spawn had shot into him personally and without any regard for the fact that it might cause _eventual death_. Of course, Castiel had died several times before, but that time, that last close call, it felt different. It felt personal. And then Crowley proceeded to basically eviscerate him while performing the Angel Tablet Caesarean with his bare hand. No, none of that was a pleasant memory. Cas burrowed further into his own limbs, hoping that if he closed his eyes tight enough this phantom of his past that had been pursuing him would simply disappear.

But when he opened his eyes again, moments later, he discovered Crowley was still standing there, studying him with the eye of a connoisseur very accustomed to examining cages and caged beasts. Cas felt an involuntary shudder.

“Just get on with it already and kill me,” Castiel growled, feeling a lot less bravado than he let on.

The more Crowley stared at him, the more the demonic equivalent of bile rose in his craw. Castiel looked broken. He looked worse than broken. Crowley had seen him shortly after he disobeyed all of Heaven. Had seen him when he made a literal deal with the Devil. But he'd never seen Cas look so utterly - defeated? - as he did now. 

He stood as close to the metal of the cage as he dared. Anger coursing through him. Anger that someone could - would - do this. Could rip the very... _angel_ out of an angel. Could leave them to suffer like this. Like an animal that needed putting out of its misery, bleeding slowly to death by natural causes over the course of decades. Castiel might be a royal pain in his backside, but he was _Crowley_ 's. Lucifer had Michael. Crowley had Castiel. And no one but _he_ should do this.

"Whyever would I kill you, Cas, my defrocked dainty? You seem to be quite... defanged and declawed right now. You're not exactly Public Enemy Numero Uno any more."

From God to... this. The transition was stark and reminded Crowley of his own fragility. He might be immortal, but he wasn’t invincible. 

"Besides. You owe me. Don't you recall?"

Cas uncoiled a bit at that, as if the snarky repartee had somehow lulled him into a sense of security. Crowley was at least still… well, Crowley, and the familiarity of him made Castiel feel more at ease. He let his legs sprawl out in front of him, one foot braced against the bars in front of Crowley’s feet. They were maybe a foot away from each other but it felt much further with the iron separating them.

He blinked up at Crowley, as if he had asked him to recite the Enochian alphabet backwards. 

“I owe you, do I? Last time we met, you weren’t shy about taking anything from me, _out_ of me even. It must be very annoying for you to see me alive.” Cas wrinkled his nose at the memory of having to shove that blood-caked angel-blade-bullet into Inias’ eye socket. Another delightful recollection he owed Crowley. “If you can call this living,” he added, casting his eyes haplessly around his cage.  
"So..." Crowley dropped to a crouch, settling back on his haunches and coming to almost eye-level with Cas. A little higher. Hands on his knees. Braced.

"...what is your current master plan, my angel food cake? Are you going to sit here and wait for your precious hunters to find you and bundle you in blankets and let you cry on the couch like a little bitch? Maybe eat some ice cream under said comforter and watch rom-coms and generally bewail your lot complete with teeth-gnashing and hair-pulling?"

One tablet ripped from Cas' stomach was not adequate recompense for the loss of half the souls in Purgatory. Was not adequate for the _betrayal_ and broken business negotiation. But that could wait until later.

“No,” Cas spoke, in his usual, pedantic tone, “I presume that I’m much more likely to die of starvation, or thirst first, as I am led to believe, rather than actually get rescued by the Winchesters or anyone else for that matter.” 

He tried to stretch out his limbs, but the cage did not allow for much maneuverability. But he did manage to change his position so that now his face was pressed against the bars separating him and Crowley and his legs had been relocated to the back of the cage. Almost toyingly, Cas wrapped his fingers over the bars and locked eyes with his unexpected visitor. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you,” Cas added. “I thought… I presume you haven’t been cured then? Why are you here?”

“No one can cure me, Cas. You should know better.” The smile on Crowley’s face hardened a little around the edges as the flickers of memories played out behind his eyes. He pushed those thoughts back down into the depths and concentrated on the task in hand: Castiel.

“I came to see for myself. I know you don’t have access to a crossroads right now, and I know it’s technically no longer my position…” He let that trail. Let Castiel fill in the gaps with whatever he wanted to. It was always easier to win someone over by letting them damn themselves. 

He plucked the red carnation from the buttonhole in his suit jacket, and pushed the delicate petals into the cage. His fingers just a breath away from a whole world of hurt. “...so. What do you say?”

Cas picked up the crimson flower off the floor of his degrading prison and held it up to his nose. The bare hint of a fragrance told him it was real.

“That was sweet of you,” Cas mumbled, not really sure what to make of the gesture, or of the question. 

“I’m very sweet,” Crowley insisted. “It’s what people notice first about me. My charming, beautiful soul.” It was hard to speak around the tongue planted firmly in his cheek. “That and my gorgeous, manly, rugged sexuality.” He brushed some imaginary fluff from where the flower had sat, looking demure. For him. “You haven’t answered my question, Cas.” He wasn’t looking at him as he asked a second time. His tongue pressed into the roof of his mouth, rubbing back and forth reflexively. 

“You haven’t asked me a question, Crowley. You’ve made a lot of innuendo and you’ve given me your buttoneer, but… Exactly what do you expect me to do? Open this cage and let you in? If I could do that, I wouldn’t still be sitting here.”

With a flourish worthy of a master of the highest level of the Magic Circle, Crowley spun his fingers around and revealed a key. “I have the key,” he said, as Castiel seemed to be woefully ignorant. Or perhaps willfully ignorant. He wasn’t sure. “...you have the lock.”

It did not take a genius to figure out what you can do with a key and a lock, surely? Cas’ bull-headedness was beginning to grate on Crowley’s sensitive nerves. Or maybe it was just Cas. Normally stupidity was par for the course, not a direct, personal insult.

“Now… are you going to make me an offer I can’t refuse, or should I vapourise this and go back to watching HBO?”

A light of understanding flickered in Cas’ eyes as they traced from Crowley’s hand (proudly brandishing the key) to his implacable face.

“You wanna make a deal? Now that I have a soul, this must be very tempting for you.” He shifted slightly in the cage. “Or is it something more… corporeal you’re interested in this time?”

Corporeal? Trust the angel to take his interest that way. Just because Crowley happened to seal his deals with a (okay, admittedly very good and stimulating) kiss… what does the angel-cum-human take him for? Although it did distract him long enough for his eyes to wander over those lips. To remember how they hadn’t sealed their last pact off. To remember how he hadn’t asked for any collateral or assurance of their previous business engagement, and how it had nearly cost him everything.

Crowley shuddered as though something had walked over his (now empty) grave. “So you literally are whoring yourself out these days? Isn’t that written somewhere in your book? What would Daddy think about you selling your body as quickly as your soul?”

His fingers tightened around the key. He almost wanted to vanish it. To burn it. To melt it and drop it into a puddle of nothingness in front of the lock. Forever in reach but never in grasp. Anger and hurt surfacing again to be chased back down and pushed to one side. Business. This was business. 

“...why don’t you make your offer, and I will see if I am swayed.” That sounded better. Sounded more demonic, and less… pissed off ex-partner.

Cas averted his eyes and bit his lip. He may have blushed, or it may have simply been Crowley’s own wishful thinking.

“You always have been rather fond of calling me a whore,” the fallen angel muttered, barely loudly enough for Crowley to hear. He lifted his eyes again and this time they shone with something far too close to despondency. “I don’t have anything else,” Cas spoke. “There is literally nothing I can offer you, except my body and my soul. But I won’t give you my soul, so don’t even think it. It was bad enough losing my Grace, I can’t lose the only part of Divine spark left in me entirely. If you want me to be Hell’s bitch, you’ll have to settle for the more mundane definition.”

And that… that hurt in a way Crowley wasn’t prepared for. Seeing the spark still there. But it was good that it was. Good that his angel still believed in something, even in this pit of despondency. Crowley didn’t really want his soul, because then Cas would be the same as any number of other men and women who had given up the essential part of them for something cheap and tawdry. (The same as him.) Castiel wouldn’t be… Castiel. He’d be just another damned creature on its nasty path to becoming a demon. The same as him.

He put the key onto the floor and pushed it towards the cage. He couldn’t touch the bars, but he could put the key in reach. Eyes on Cas the whole time. Reading. Always reading. The angelic fire still there, after all. Still there even without his wings. Still Cas.

“Open up, then. Let me in.” And you out. Making sure Cas’ eyes were on his before he let go of the key. No chance the man (that hurt his head to think) could get past him. Only the bars around his body keeping him safe. But Cas had to pull those apart himself. Had to welcome Crowley in.

Cas looked up at Crowley, meeting his eyes for a few moments, but tearing his look away. Something didn’t sit right with him, in addition to the fact that he was hungry and his head hurt and he stank like a five day old pile of cheese. It felt strangely akin to guilt. It wasn’t exactly as if Crowley had ever lied to him before - if anything, he had almost a deleterious adherence to protocol and his own honor code of dealmaking. 

And had we mentioned Cas was hungry? It was definitely one of the least pleasant sensations of his human condition, he even preferred pain to hunger because pain was something you could bear and twist into something else, whereas hunger just weakened you until you died.

Tentatively, he reached through the bars and clasp the key in his hand. He could do this. He could just… whatever… grin and bear it, and then he could find food. Maybe Crowley would even find food _for_ him. Cas felt that pang in his gut again at the memory of his old partnership with the Demon, when the purveyor of Hell’s souls would anticipate his every need and deliver on it. Yeah, he could do this.

Before he could change his mind, he fumbled with the key until it turned in the latch, and then kicked open the door to the cage. It swung widely, emitting a high-pitched creak.

Crowley was no fool. For all Cas was weakened and the cage was small, there was no way in either his or Cas' homes he was going to be foolish enough to walk into a trap that could close behind him and bite him on the ass. The time of even vaguely trusting angels was long since gone. Not since he learned they were even more faithless than the damned.

"Come on out, little chicken, come on out of the coop. There's no fox here to snap your neck. Just old Crowley waiting for you to lay the golden egg." Who cares if it's the goose that does that. Crowley didn't give two shits about eggs. He crooked his finger, making a soothing noise. What he hoped was a soothing noise.

He was fighting yet more anger at the state of Castiel, though. Strangely he should have been feeling pleased with the degrading treatment. Happy that he could be the saviour, too. But instead it made his vessel's blood boil red hot. No one but he should be able to make his... nemesis? Ex? Old colleague? Whatever. No one but him should have the right to make Cas this miserable. He made a mental note to himself to wreak bloody vengeance once this was settled.

It wasn’t that he was afraid to come out, it was merely that Castiel realized there was no graceful way of accomplishing it and he was contemplating which of his two options was the least humiliating: sliding out of the cage on his ass, or crawling out of it on his hands and knees. He briefly contemplated asking Crowley to look away, but this kind of modestly seemed particularly foolhardy in the face of the fact that Cas had just promised the demon his body. He swung his legs out the door, and tried to propel himself out in one slide. Once out of his portable prison, he somehow ended up on his knees anyways, but at least he wasn’t crawling.

He got up onto his feet, noting that some of the muscles in his legs were trembling, probably with what the humans call ‘exhaustion’. He brushed off his pants in a very human gesture and finally unfurled to his full height, standing before Crowley on equal footing, or at least with the physical semblance of it. Cas had no doubt who held the advantage.

“Thank you,” Cas spoke and extended the carnation back towards Crowley, realizing he had been clutching it in his left hand this whole time. He didn’t know why he did it, but it felt like the thing to do at the moment.

Crowley raised his hand and closed it around Cas'. "You keep that," he told the angel. "For good luck."

It was hard to keep the displeasure from crossing his features - Cas was in an inhuman state. The sort of punishment befitting the damned, not the temporarily misplaced. It just... would not do.

It was impossible to even look at the man for long without his eyes burning dry. "If I was you," he added, voice arid, "I'd throw in some TLC when you sign your contract. Food. Clothes. Shower. Money. Or I'll let you out of one hell-hole to dart right into another."

Stupid of Crowley to say it. But Castiel was worthy of fear, awe and respect once. And Crowley remembered feeling all three. He stood close, but didn't make a move just yet. 

“Yes, obviously, those things would be nice,” Cas mumbled, pulling the flower back towards himself. There was something very comforting about the lush bouquet of tiny petals that made up the carnation bloom. The tiny white stamen curled coyly over the tops of the red waves. They reminded Castiel that these beautiful floral nubs were the sexual organs of the flower. Then he blushed, imagining his face turning almost the same vermillion shade as the carnation.

"Well. List your demands," Crowley insisted. He could sense Castiel's embarrassment rising. It wasn't sexy. If anything, it made him feel dirty too... the smell of sulphur strong in the air.

"And make sure you make it good. Not many people get to make a deal with the King of Hell. And _no one_ makes _two_." Except, it seemed, Cas. 

“First, I want you to make me impervious to demonic possession,” Cas said, tearing his eye away from the flower and his mind away from the impending transaction. “Then...” he paused because ‘food, clothes, shower, money’ and - oh God - _bed_ , all these things were wonderful things, things he hadn’t truly appreciated before, and he wanted them. But there were more important things to think about, like Metatron, and how to fix this complete and utter fiasco that he had helped bring to fruition. “I don’t suppose you can help me get my Grace back?”

"Afraid not, my pumpkin pie. It would sort of make a mockery of the whole of metaphysics if I had control over the _Heavenly_ Host. Although I would be an effective administrator, if they outsourced that gig. Cheap off-shore labour. You know the drill."

He did, however, lift his index finger and jab it into Cas' shoulder. A short, sharp burn of flesh as he seared the lines in and pulled back. "Not that any of my troops would survive ten minutes in you against my will, but it's ten minutes too long." He made a show of leaning in to blow over Cas' clothed skin. To put out the fire or to blow-kiss it better. 

Castiel shivered from the sensation. “Good. Then… fine. Just take me to the Winchesters when you’re… finished.” His stomach growled angrily again. There was apparently no way the mortal coil was going to save him any dignity. “And maybe get me a sandwich,” he added.

He'd given the angel two out of three things already. Still no collateral. He was just going to have to cement this.

Crowley braced himself, then stepped in too-close. Gave Cas the briefest of moments to acclimatise. Then he lifted his hand to cup the once-angel's jaw tenderly. Crowley had kissed plenty of people over the years, some more willing than others. Every one was different... Right now, Cas reeked of dismay and tragedy. Crowley stroked his thumb under the stubble of his jaw, it bristled under his pad. Again, nothing he wasn't used to.

"Seal your terms, and whatever filling you want on your bread bun - save for your erstwhile Grace, or my head - is yours, my teacake." He held him in place - angling his head slightly down - as he brushed his lips slowly over Cas'. Like a tender lover, he flickered his tongue gently. Requesting access, but not demanding. Tongue was, after all, an optional extra he enjoyed indulging in. 

Castiel didn’t understand. Crowley had every reason in the world to want him dead, so why was he being so… _nice_ to him? Yes - nice. It didn’t compute. There must be a trick here somewhere, he was probably going to make him pay later, during the ‘sealing of terms’ as Crowley put it. Cas knew there was a very high probability of that, but despite this statistical calculation, he found himself leaning into the kiss. The kissing thing - he realized he was rather fond of it. He clutched the flower roughly in the palm of his hand and opened his mouth, just enough to let Crowley’s tongue in. And then he was blushing crimson again because the sound that reached his ears was the sound of his own soft moaning into the kiss.

He pulled back, eyes shooting between the corners of the room, anywhere but on Crowley’s face. He didn’t want to see the demon looking smug. He didn’t want to think about his reaction to the kissing either. Cas cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

Crowley enjoyed this kiss more than most; enjoyed it because of how stolen it was. He wondered how many lips had touched Castiel's… in any form. Perhaps not many. Cas kissed with subtle passion, a hint of the deep waters below the surface. When it broke, he trailed that thumb over his jaw again. Not yet stepping back.

Damn but that moan made him hot.

“Sure, fine, get on with it then. All things considered, this is a bargain,” Cas said, trying to keep his voice even, but still not daring to meet the demon’s gaze.

"What kind of sandwich would you like? Something long and crammed with meat?" Crowley’s eyes glittered brightly in the dim light.

Cas realized his hands were still resting on the lapels of Crowley’s jacket. He opened his mouth, then closed it, finally letting his hands drop and stepping away. “Whatever, just… hold the mustard. I think my vessel… er… body is allergic to it.”

He paced a ways off and stared at the cage from which Crowley so magnanimously extracted him. “This,” he began, looking at his hands again as if they were some kind of astral projections, “this is all still new to me. You’ve accused me once before of not knowing who I am, well, this hasn’t helped.” He leaned against the cage, resting his tired head on his folded forearms. The position presented a rather tantalizing view for Crowley.

“I’m tired,” Cas said, his voice so quiet that Crowley had to take a few steps forward, closer to the cage, but closer still to curve of Castiel’s back. “I’m hungry. My head hurts. My mouth feels like something died inside me, twice. If you want to consummate this deal, let’s just get it over with now. Otherwise, just… get me the Hell out of here.”

With something akin to pity, Crowley put a hand on Cas' shoulder. He wouldn't lie to himself that Cas' body wasn’t attractive: there was nothing gained by self-abnegation. But for all he was easy on the eyes, Crowley just... couldn't.

Despite not having been specifically requested, Crowley decided that the earlier conversation was close enough to being defined under contractual law. Under his hand the pain and tiredness seeped out, leaving nothing but the aching hunger. Even the sticky-hot feeling of dirt washed away, and he dry-cleaned the clothes on Cas' back.

"You flatter yourself," he drawled instead. "Just because your body belongs to me, it doesn't mean I can't resist. It _does_ mean you can't go off on a mad boning spree over the big, bad world. Now eat your sandwiches like a good boy. It will make you feel better."

In his other hand was a plate of them. Cut into triangles. Without the crusts. White bread and brown, cheese and meat and tuna. A tiny little selection of anything bar mustard. 

Castiel felt himself salivating. Not only did the little treats look delicious, they also looked aesthetically appealing, which knowing Crowley as well as he did, wasn’t entirely surprising. Still, he’d admired them long enough before he reached out and popped a couple of tantalizing triangles into his parched mouth. He should have maybe chewed a bit more before swallowing, but - priorities.

“Thank you,” he muttered, reaching out for more more food, and shoveling it into his mouth with all the grace of a baboon. He was thanking Crowley for much more than the sandwiches, but he didn’t think he needed to spell it out. “I promise, no boning sprees,” he added, peeking at Crowley from under his thick lashes as he reached for the last of the sandwiches. 

“These are delicious,” he confessed, licking his fingers. “You are… You didn’t have to…” Cas swallowed. He had just noticed that the carnation he had been holding before was somehow now pinned to the lapel of his newly cleaned and pressed shirt. “Is there anything I can… uh… do for you in the meantime?” It was only right to ask, Cas figured.

"You will work out what you can do for me in time. Right now you're about as useful to me as an angry kitten stuck in a damp paper bag." Crowley shrugged. "Now. Unless you have anything else to say... I have a Kingdom to run. Hell doesn't run smoothly by magic, you know. And your captors will be _ever_ so slightly peeved to find you frolicking free like a baby gazelle."

He was back to examining his own finely tailored suit. Cas cut a better figure cleaned up. Crowley was not oblivious to the fact. 

Cas smiled despite himself. Crowley reverting back to snark and insults was as soothing as whiskey had become, once he’d acquired the taste for it as a newly minted human. But he still didn’t understand how he’d just gotten off so easy. Crowley didn’t want his body? Didn’t want to be ‘serviced’ in any way (and Cas would venture that Crowley had quite the imagination in that department)? There had to be a catch, he must have been playing the long game, like that time with Purgatory. The feeling of somehow having done something horribly amiss kicked him in the lower intestine again, and this time it wasn’t about the things he’s done as a God, or letting Leviathans loose onto the planet. This was a guilt he hadn’t examined before.

“Well, if you have no current uses for me, you can take me to the Winchesters,” he finally said. Although, considering the welcome he’d received from his own kin, and the fact that the King of Hell was treating him better than possibly anyone has treated him in years, didn’t really point to a glowing reception from his remaining friends. If he could even hope to count the Winchesters among them.

"Done," Crowley agreed. And with a snap of his fingers both went their separate ways.

***

If there’s one thing Castiel had learned over the last year or so it was that he should never lie to Dean again. The second component of that lesson, which he was still in the process of learning, was that Dean could be a huge dick to you even if you told him the truth. Fundamentally, there were just certain things that the elder Winchester failed to grasp - such as Castiel’s penchant for dealing with Crowley - or rather, as Dean so eloquently put it, being Crowley’s ‘butt-buddy’.

“I’m not his ‘butt-buddy’...” Cas tried to reassure the hunter, air quotes and everything. “Besides, he saved my life. Where were _you_ when the angels captured me and left me to rot in a kennel?”

Of course, he knew the answer to that. Taking care of Sammy. Sammy was always number one, yadda yadda. The thing was, Cas loved Sam too. Sam deserved to be loved, and he’d certainly always treated Cas much nicer than Dean, their more profound bond be damned.

There were of course times when Cas would look at Dean, with his newly human eyes, and see him the way everyone else must’ve seen him, the bright sheen of his soul diminished underneath the boundaries of his (albeit magnificent) human façade, and it still made him want to scream and cry. _Love me, love me, why can’t you love me?! I have given everything for you!_ And it was true, and still, it did not matter. Dean wasn’t ever truly his to love.

But soon even that had to be forgotten in favor of trying to contain the sheer chaos that he himself wrought. The angels wanted to let Michael and Lucifer out of the Cage, under the pretext that they were the only two angels still alive powerful enough to take on Metatron and restore the balance between Heaven and Hell. And, as if that plan wasn’t heinous enough, Cas was disturbed to learn that only one thing stood between the fallen angel army and the Cage: Crowley. They had to kill Hell’s Usurper in order to free its One True King.

Cas didn’t want to lie to Dean anymore, especially since Dean wasn’t exactly on board with the plan to spring the Cage open, but he wasn’t going to just sit idly by while Gideon and the rest hunted down the one creature in the world who would bother to cut the crusts off the bread for his sandwiches. And the strangest thing of all - the carnation Crowley had given him hadn’t wilted. That had to mean something, right? Probably nothing good. Cas shrugged and completed the summoning spell.

Crowley felt the tug, first. The tendrils of magic reaching out for him. It was like floating out at sea and suddenly being wrapped up in hungry tentacles or malevolent seaweed which _yanked_ sideways. 

He prepared himself for anything. Not many could - or would - summon him now. And none of it was good news. 

So when the world materialised and he found himself staring at Castiel, the sarcastic jibe faltered and a flicker of surprise danced in his eyes. "Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here." 

His eyes darted around the room looking for a Winchester or two. "You call me here to renegotiate terms, Cas?"

"What? No." Castiel bristled. "There is a foul stench afoot!" he declared dramatically. Then, reassessing his shakespearean outburst, added, "The angels. They have put out a hit on you to spring Lucifer's cage." He shifted uncomfortably and eyed Crowley askance. "How... are you?"

Crowley was - for once - struck dumb. Castiel being all dramatic was nothing new (angels did it as much as demons, but angels were more pompous with it). Castiel summoning him and - eyes checking for traps - apparently just for a _chat_? 

"I... see." He quirked a brow, darkly amused. "Well, I'm apparently hot property, if what you're saying is true. Which is flattering, and all, but I'll be honest with you it's not exactly the news I wanted." Also, why hadn't anyone else told him? Crowley made a mental note to have some underlings eviscerated. "And... how is Paradise Lost?"

"Brutal. Chaotic." Cas paused. _Cold_ , he thought. "I have been... struggling with the mundane matters of existence." _I don't even think they want me around anymore_ , he thought. "Dean gets angry when I can't figure out how to sleep." _Dean gets angry about a lot of things._

Crowley’s eyes went distant. “What was it, ‘nasty, brutish and short’? It’s so long ago I don’t even remember what sleep was like.” This was a lie. Crowley remembered all too well, he just chose not to most of the time. “Is that because you come into his room in the middle of the night sucking your thumb? Or is it because he sneaks into your room to tell you bedtime stories and you don’t let him make you feel special?”

Cas contemplated this for a moment. Crowley always had a way of putting things that simultaneously confused him and made him re-evaluate his very fibre. 

"I... I don't know. He... seems to take affront at the dark circles around my eyes." Cas didn't care about his face - it was there and had a lot of orifices in constant need of tending to, but otherwise pointless. "And I don't suck my thumb," he added with a hint of petulance. 

Crowley’s head tilted to one side, unconsciously mimicking Cas. “So, your hunters haven’t been teaching you how to be a real boy? And you thought the best thing to do was call your fairy godmother?”

He could see Cas wasn’t sleeping. It was blatantly obvious. Apparently being human was hard to get used to.

"No, it's not like that," Cas protested. It was true, sometimes he felt so lonely and out of place that even his quest to restore Heaven didn't seem enough to keep him from wanting to end it all. Of course, there was always the chance that Something would bring him back. Wasn't God. Couldn't have been. "I summoned you to warn you. You're welcome, by the way."

“And what do you want in return?” 

People did not offer things like this for free. Crowley knew that, better than most. 

Now that was unexpected. Cas frowned. 

"I owed you." He tried to shrug it off. Crowley didn't forget deals. He owned Castiel's body - and seemed equally as uninterested in it as Cas himself. "And, uh... I didn't want anything to happen to you."

Crowley considered that briefly. “I suppose if I wound up dead, then you might technically be whored out to Lucifer. And I don’t know about you, but I can think of a million other beings I would rather own my assets than good old Lucy. And technically… he is your brother still. So there’s that. Maybe Dean could give you lessons.”

Well, this wasn’t awkward. He clapped his hands together, lips pressed into a thin line… and shrugged. Maybe he should just… vanish?

Cas hadn't considered that. And now that he had, he didn't like it. 

"That's... irrelevant. Lucifer would sooner kill me than... whatever." Crowley looked shifty and Cas recognized that look. He was about to poof out. "Wait," he grabbed the demon by the sleeve. "How would I know if something happened to you?" _You might be my only friend_ , he thought, remembering the way Dean sighed demonstratively each time Cas flunked another humanity skill. 

And now Castiel was grabbing his clothing? Today was possibly the most surreal day since Woodstock. It was only through enormous self-restraint that Crowley didn’t do something ridiculous like send him flying into a wall, or burn his fingers to a crisp in knee-jerk self-defence.

“I would assume - if killing me would open up the Pandora’s toy box to let Barbie and Ken out - that shortly afterwards you would notice the distinct smell of sulphur, the charging of the Horsemen, the trumpets, Wormwood, the Whore of Babylon and a significant drop in the presentation and grooming of the damned. But to be fair, you probably wouldn’t live for long after that, considering it will be the End Of The World, so you wouldn’t have a chance to miss me.”

"Oh. Right."

Cas should not have gotten sentimental. Perhaps he should have spent his (greatly diminished) energy on mending fences with Dean and less on worrying about his old... business partner. 

"Well then." He let go of Crowley's sleeve. "Try not to die and restart the Apocalypse."

Crowley pulled his wrist back as Cas let go of his sleeve, only to reach up and squeeze Cas’ cheek. Damned if Cas was going to creep him out. Didn’t he know Crowley was the King of Inappropriate Touching? “You’re such a darling. Don’t worry. Daddy won’t let it get too much. I can always run off to the Bahamas if I need to.”

He patted Cas’ cheek. “Don’t stay up. You know I like to party.”

Crowley blew a kiss and vanished in a ripple of red.

It reminded Castiel of the flower in the small vase in his bedroom. He waited for a moment, unsure of for what, but nothing came but that familiar feeling of loneliness. He headed back towards the bunker. 

***

There was a war going on, an actual all-out war, with angels, demons, Knights of Hell, ghosts of the dearly departed popping out when you least expect them, and of course - hunters. _Don’t lie to Dean. Mustn’t lie to Dean._ But it just got so _difficult_ sometimes like when Cas would say, “Abaddon wants Crowley dead,” and Dean would say, “And why should I give a shit about this?” and Cas would say, “No reason.”

There should’ve been enough on his mind to keep it off something so simple as a wilted _flower_ , but there he was, standing in his bedroom, several guns strapped to him, about to head over to a ‘meeting’ which could potentially land him in the incinerator, and all he could think was: _Why?_

It had been perfectly alive and well for months. Why wilt? Why now? What did it mean? Crowley had said that if he’d been killed and Lucifer set free, the Apocalypse to follow would be rather obvious to the casual observer. And Castiel was no casual observer, he’d seen it up close and personal before, and this just wasn’t it. But what if…

What if Crowley was dead and Lucifer hasn’t been sprung yet?

It could very well be, couldn’t it? Crowley could be dead.

Crowley was dead.

He was dead, gone, just like that and Cas never… What? He wasn’t sure where to start enumerating the things he never. Never got to say how sorry he was, for one thing. Because he had misjudged him, that was it, wasn’t it? Sure, Crowley had done some messed up shit, who hadn’t? (If he had a dollar by now for each time he’d had to watch Dean torturing some poor bastard, well, he’d probably have roughly 54 dollars.) But he followed through, he always followed through. And never took more than his share.

Hell, sometimes he never really took the share he was owed. Cas looked down at his own body. So, this was it? He would never see his… master? his ex… (ex-what? who cares?) ever again? 

What was it he’d said to Crowley, back then, when he had betrayed him? _I’m neither stupid nor wicked._ That was the thing. He didn’t want to be either of those things, but he had been both at the same time. He was _stupid_ and what he’d done was _wicked_. He betrayed his best friend, and then he betrayed his (business?) partner for whom he had betrayed his best friend. Sure, it all made perfect sense at the time. There was the _regret_ and _Dean_ , and somewhere in his gut Castiel was still doing it all for Dean (had always done everything for Dean), but it was Crowley who saved him from Raphael, it was Crowley who delivered Purgatory, and it was _Crowley_ who saved him from the cage his own brethren had confined him to (and then refused to collect the payment owed him). 

And now he was dead, and Castiel would never tell him.

_I’m just like you. We could have been a thing. I could have loved you, if you had let me._

He realized that the drop of water falling onto the wilted carnation had been his own tear.

“Hey, Cas, you ready to go kick some angelic ass, or what?”

The angels, _yes_ , they were probably responsible for this. Cas crushed the dead flower in his hand and let the remnants fall at his feet.

“Yes, Dean.”

“Dude, have you been _crying_?”

“No. I’m fine.”

It turned out it was virtually impossible not to lie to Dean, so he lied twice, and followed the hunter out the door.

***

The angelic blood was still wet on the blade, the light still flickering to nothing in Gideon's eyes when Crowley threw his metaphorical wing over all three of the idiotic human hunters and pulled them up and out.

He couldn't teleport them into the bunker, because someone had written a big 'Fuck you, demons' over the door. Selfish pricks.

The minute they landed he went straight over to Cas. Cas who was bubbling up blood from a nasty wound. Crowley hadn't heard his psychic scream fast enough to stop it - and he'd been hoping their bull-headed charge would buy him time to finish re-opening Heaven himself - but he could damn well fix it. Dropping to one knee, he put his hand over the wound and set tissue, muscle and organ fixing. Cas looked pale and Crowley was apoplectic.

"You damn fool, you call yourself a hunter?" Crowley snarled at Dean. "You and your Moose can stop Lucifer, stop Leviathans, but you can't keep Cas safe? What the hell were you all thinking charging Gideon like that?"

"Woah there, asshat! Who died and made you my mom? And if you say 'Your actual mom' I swear I'll stab you in the neck." Dean looked rather shaken himself, a fact which did not make him any less infuriating. "Nobody asked for your help anyways. We had it under control."

"You had it so far under control that Cas nearly died of blood loss and organ failure, sure," Crowley spat back. "And _please_ , Dean, we all know your problems are more Electra than Oedipus. If anything, I'm replacing your daddy dearest."

 _Come on_ , he thought, feeling the heat from the almost-healed wound. _Don't die on me, Cas. Not now. Not after everything._ He ran a worried hand over Cas' brow, not even bothering to hide the very real concern. Fuck them all.

"Since when do you even care what happens to him?" Dean snapped. Crowley could feel Sam Moosing in the background, possibly trying to talk sense (abortively) to his elder sibling. "No, Sam! He's got his demon paws all over Cas. I'm not just gonna 'drop it’."

"Dean, he saved our lives."

"Well... he's rude."

"Since when do you _not_?" Crowley retorted. "Since he Fell for you? Since he took on all of Heaven and Hell and you just hated him for it? My God, Dean, but if I don't personally see you in the pit when you die I'll start the Apocalypse myself."

His eyes flickered to Sam, a little surprised by the tiny show of support. A flash of something - memory, pain, confessions in the dark no one should hear - and he had to look away from the judgement in his eyes. Shit. 

Crowley wanted to run. Wanted to run and raze cities to the ground. But he couldn't. Not until he knew Cas was safe. The man was a lodestone around his neck. 

In a fit of elegance, Dean finally tried to punch him, only to get bodily Moosed away. 

"I will not be lectured by the King of Fucking Hell," Crowley heard his squawk of indignation as Sam propelled him out of earshot. 

Under his voice, Crowley growled at the Winchesters, "Well maybe it's about time someone _did_ ," even if he also felt a strange sort of gratitude for Sam intervening. Crowley was about to do something permanently disfiguring to Dean, and only the thought of what Cas would feel about it stopped him. 

Cas. Who still wasn't responding. "...hey. Hey. Sleeping Beauty. You can wake up now. The big old mean angel is dead, and Dean's a dick as usual." He shook him, holding on where he'd been hurt. Not willing to let go yet. His other hand combing through the mess of his hair, trying to bring him back around.

Cas groaned. He seemed even more kittenish hurt like this, his face all scrunched up in pain and confusion. 

"Am I dead? Is this... Hell?"

"No, Cas. You're not dead. Although not from lack of trying." 

Crowley decided it was okay to keep stroking his hair. It was nice hair. And it was his, after all. All of Cas was. It's why he had to save him, you see. "What in the name of everything unholy were you thinking?"

Castiel's hand slid up his arm and grasped at his shoulder. 

"But... If I'm not dead... Are you also not dead? I thought you were. I was so sure, I..." His eyes got very wide as he trailed off.

Crowley's expression grew complicated. "Why did you think I was dead?" His eyes narrowed in confusion. Was there something he didn't know?

Cas was holding him. Holding onto him. Like he was grounding, or something. He was warm and solid and alive. Alive and... he looked... pleased Crowley wasn't dead? His hand moved of its own accord, sliding behind Cas' head to support it. To trail fingers over the nape of his neck. Cas was alive and well and it made Crowley... happy. Happy he was alive. But maybe Crowley should just keep holding on for a while in case Cas got hurt again if he let go. He barely could breathe in case it broke the moment. Barely could think. "Was there some other plan to kill me, beyond the one you told me about?"

Cas blinked, his planet-like eyes focusing on Crowley's own. He didn't pull away. 

"The carnation you gave me - it wilted." Saying it outloud made it seem somehow preposterous. But he was so convinced at the time that this was the only possible explanation. He gently squeezed Crowley's shoulder, as if by that gesture to ask forgiveness for his foolishness. 

"You kept it?" Crowley asked instead. 

That... Sort of hurt. In a good way. That Cas would want to keep it. Would even care if he was dead or not. 

"...I suppose the rumours of my death have been... Exaggerated."

What in all the principalities was wrong with this? Crowley lifted his hand from Cas' healed side. Stared at the blood. "You nearly died. You're not invincible, remember, and I might not always hear you in time."

"I'm sorry," Cas whispered, his hand absentmindedly stroking up and down the demon's arm. It felt... different, saying that to Crowley as opposed to Dean. Like maybe there was actually a chance he'd be forgiven. "For everything," he added, hoping Crowley would understand. The pain in his abdomen was gone but his eyelids still felt heavy.

 _I nearly lost you. I nearly lost you and I don't want to have to bring you back. I don't want to see you dead._ Crowley had been trying to do more than just reopen Heaven, he'd been looking into Grace. And now he realised he was going to have to step up his game if Cas was stupidly going to fling himself in front of any evil angel he saw. The thought of seeing Cas dead just hurt in a way Crowley wasn't prepared to deal with.

And the look in his eyes... sorrow? Regret? Crowley couldn't remember the last time anyone apologised to him and meant it. Meant it for anything other than self-preservation. Something deep in his chest started to ache.

 _Keep your ass safe, it's mine_ , he should have said. _Do you realise I should be charging for all these home visits?_ he could have added. _Stop being such a dick. Stop almost dying. Stop being nice to me. Stop saying sorry._ He didn't say any of these things, or the myriad other, sharper comments he should have. He didn't demand something in return for saving Cas - and those idiotic brothers - didn't... 

Crowley pulled Cas up into a fierce kiss with the hand behind his head, pressing his lips to Cas' and pushing hard with his tongue. Cas' lips tasted of fear and exertion and... need. He tasted of life and death and Crowley realised he wanted this. Not just as business. He wanted this. He wanted Cas. Wanted to make him moan like he did that night by the cage. Wanted Cas to keep looking at him like he was right now.

What caught Cas by surprise wasn't the kiss itself, or how his arms wrapped around the demon's back of their own volition, or how the rest of his body strained towards the solid buttressing of the other, or even the way he opened his lips to let the querying tongue in - no - it was the way their mouths fit together. Funny thing about them - mouths - they were all mouth-shaped, so you’d think it a natural fit, and there were occasions when Cas had been kissed before (Meg came to mind, his _first_ demon), but never like this. Cas closed his eyes and let the rhythm lull him. He felt Crowley's fingers clenching at the hair at the nape of his neck, and just like the first time it happened, Cas moaned into the kiss, softly but with the same underlying, surprising _need_.

The moan went right through Crowley like water through paper, flooding through his system and making everything flush hot. A stab of fire straight down into his pants, making him squirm at the sensation. He held Cas’ head still as he slid his tongue inside, slowly thrusting into the soft, warm, yielding bed of his mouth. Normally he only ever kissed someone once, because once the deal was made… that was it. And it was business that he enjoyed, but it was business.

There was no way he could pretend this was business. No way this was anything other than want and need. He kissed Castiel with all the finesse he could muster, wanting to make sure he proved his skill and experience. Wanting to make it good for him. Wanting…

He pulled back from his lips, staring at them. Eyes flickering over the rise and fall of Cas’ chest. The darkness in those eyes. He put his free hand on Cas’ chest, feeling the hammering of his heart. He could all but hear it.

_Mine. My angel. Mine. I own you. I own all of you. I want you. I want this. I l--_

Panic in the demon’s eyes. Flickering over Castiel, and it’s there. Right beforehand. The need to run. _Fear_.

Cas felt it, like a water mirage on the road right as it dissipates. "Don't," he whispered, digging his fingers into the folds of the demon's suit. They curled around empty air. 

***

It's complicated, not dying. It takes a lot of effort. Every moment you have to not be brutally murdered. You have to remember to watch your back. You have to keep your eyes forwards and back at the same time. It's exhausting, on top of all the normal day-to-day activities involved in being Head Demon. You just can't delegate work down and trust it will be done. You can't just ignore things and hope they will go away.

So when Crowley _heard_ his name, heard the start of the summoning spell, he wondered why he wasn't immune. An oversight, surely. The tug settled into the pit of his stomach and yanked him sideways. It left his gut somewhere behind him as the fear moved in instead.

The world ahead of his eyes melted and he braced. Braced for anything.

This might just be it.

Apparently ‘It’ was a demon trap. It was an unmistakable sensation, being pinned in. He was hyper-conscious of where the edges of the sigil lay, and he didn’t even need to look up or down to know the boundaries of his current cage.

Oh yes. And then there was the actual cage. An honest to goodness cage. It was a few feet in either direction - enough that he could reach out with his hands and brush the sides - and tall enough for him to not feel crowded in. Sam would probably brush the top with his mop of a head, but that wasn’t an issue for Crowley. Not iron, but it didn’t need to be. Not with the demon trap painted - oh - above _and_ below. Just to be safe, he guessed.

So basically he was utterly, completely screwed. He fought not to slump in dismay, looking for an out. Looking… for his captor. He spun on his heel and was not-quite surprised by who he saw.

“So. It comes to this, Cas?” An arm took in the general locale with one sweep, his eyes saying the rest. “I suppose I should be surprised it took this long.”

Cas felt the beating of his own heart like a battle tattoo. He had a plan and he felt as if the whole of everything in existence, down to the rotation of the planets, depended on this plan going off without a hitch. But this was _them_ , Cas and Crowley, the men who would have been kings had either one of them been capable of letting go and taking the leap of faith.

“I want to renegotiate the terms of our arrangement,” Cas said, leaning against the bars of the cage, his voice steadier than the trembling of his fingers.

Crowley heard the words, and they stung all the way through him, like acid swimming through his vessel’s veins. Renegotiate? Here he was, stuck in a cell much like Cas had been. Of course Castiel wanted to renegotiate. So would Crowley, in his circumstances. 

But ‘renegotiate’ was such a nice euphemism. Such a polite way of saying ‘I’m going to break our second arrangement in much a similar way to our first. I’m going to screw you over yet again. I’m going to take back everything I offered and who knows what more I’ll get out of you, because I have you trapped and it was your own fault for feeling something almost like pity’.

Crowley set his jaw. “I see.”

“No,” Cas said, quietly, “You don’t.”

He could see the hurt in Crowley’s eyes, read it across his face like the gospel. It accused him and Cas could feel the weight of those accusations like so many tiny little swords, stabbing into his brain. He wished he had the ability to say the right thing at the right time, to soothe the hurt written so explicitly across the demon’s handsome features, but he apparently had perpetual Foot-in-Mouth syndrome (or at least according to Dean he did), so he tried to be as sparse with words as he could.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cas offered. “I just need this one thing from you.”

Just this one thing. Crowley remembered when someone said that to him, so many moons ago. Just one thing. Just your immortal soul. It’s no biggie. You don’t need it. You can live without it fine. It’s not like you’re using it. And when you’re dead, you’re dead. You want this. You want this… and a name he stopped using a hundred lifetimes ago…

“Sure. You want me to undo our deal. You trap me here, so you can take back what I took from you. Which is natural, I suppose. It must offend your sense of _justice_ to have _me_ hanging over your shoulders, like Damocles’ proverbial phallic object of desire.” He tried very hard to keep the anger out of his tone, but it was hard.

“I suppose I should at least be grateful that you bothered to make a show of it this time, rather than just refusing to follow through.” His eyes blazed with fury, nostrils flaring as he tried so very hard not to set the bars Cas was clutching aflame.

Castiel could feel his eyes burning. He tried to keep his voice as steady and mellow as possible, but he was afraid that one word more and he’d be giving up the game. And it was imperative that Crowley do this without knowing the _reason_ for it.

“I know I have no right to ask this of you - but, please, trust me,” Cas whispered between the bars.

Trust him? Castiel wanted Crowley to trust him? After everything? After… after the last time when he’d given him everything? Given him the power to destroy so much, given him half of what he wanted all for himself? (Not really. It was no fun to be the superpower. It was only fun when you had someone else around to bounce off.) 

But then… Cas had been the one to warn him. Cas had been the one to tell him there was a price on his head. Cas… had… Cas had kept the flower he gave him. It was a trivial little thing. An affectation. Something subtle and strange. He didn’t even really know why he had it in the first place. It had just appealed to him, and he took it. Like so many things that appealed to him over the years.

Like… say… Cas.

He knew he wasn’t getting out of this cage unless Castiel wanted him to. And he knew Castiel would never speak to him again if he refused him this. And he… he could see the way his words had hurt Cas, as surely as this trap had hurt him. This meant something. Who knew what the hell it meant, but it did. 

His tongue flickered out over his lips as he thought it through. He was damned either way, so he might as well be damned gracefully. Might as well admit once and for all that he was a damn fool, and all Castiel ever had to do was look at him and he’d break all his internal rules. 

Crowley reached through the bars and his hand snuck around to curl behind Cas’ neck, holding him close to the bars. “I hate you, you know,” he said, and he leaned in to kiss him chastely through the gaps in the cage.

Cas’ eyes were closed for a beat longer than the duration of the kiss. When he opened them, Crowley noticed the moisture on his eyelashes.

“Is that all? My body is my own again, to do with as I see fit?” Cas asked.

Crowley’s eyes were down. He couldn’t look at Cas. Couldn’t let him see the hurt. Couldn’t let him see that this was… this was personal. Not business. Personal.

“...yeah,” came the rough answer, the word dragged up and out of him by its bootlaces. “You’re free to go. Free to do whatever. I’d appreciate it if you could return the favour.” He tilted his head to indicate the traps keeping him in place. He still had hold of Cas’ head. Perhaps it would be the last time they touched. If so, he didn’t want to let go until he had to. Until he absolutely had to. Fingers pressing tighter to try and alleviate some of the pressure in his chest.

“Good,” Cas also looked away, biting his lower lip to keep it from trembling. He shuffled his foot across the floor, breaking the trap below, then he handed Crowley a Swiss Army knife. “Here, do something about the one above you.” Trust, Cas thought, had to go both ways. The ghost of the memory of Crowley’s lips touching his own burned warmly into his core. He wouldn’t turn that knife against him, he _wouldn’t_. Cas reached into his pocket for the key to the cage.

The thought of using the knife for anything else never once crossed Crowley’s mind. Instead, he felt a sort of dull… completion about being given it. He arched up and sent a loud _snick_ through the marking.

Without it holding him in place, there was nothing to keep him from vanishing. From disappearing into so much smoke. Instead he closed the knife shut with a sound that seemed… final. And offered the hilt back to Cas.

“...well. If you ever decide to give up your day job hunting, I think Hell has a vacancy in my old spot. You seem to have a knack for it. A talent, you might say.”

Cas put the key into the keyhole, turning it with shaking hands and swung the door open, letting himself inside. He then closed it behind him and stood there, watching Crowley adjusting his French cuffs with the air of studied nonchalance. He wondered what must have been going through the demon’s mind as he approached on uncertain footsteps.

“If you could indulge me a few more minutes of your time,” Cas said, feeling the sudden parchness of his own throat. “I’m not _exactly_ done negotiating with you yet.” He took another step forward, bodily pressing up against Crowley, crushing the demon against the bars of the cage, crushing their mouths together before either one of them had a chance to change their minds.

Whatever made Crowley stay, he was glad he did. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t Castiel body-checking him into the bars of the cage. His hands came up defensively - it was automatic - but when it became clear it wasn’t an _attack_ , he grabbed hold of Cas’ shirt and curled, keeping him in close. If all he was going to get was one last hurrah? Well, god damnit, but he was going to make sure it was a good one. He bit Cas’ lip, hard, and used the shock of it to take back control of his mouth.

Cas moaned and practically purred against him, hands burrowing into the folds of Crowley’s multi-layered clothing.

“Do you want this?” Cas’ voice was a heated whisper against the skin of Crowley’s neck. “Do you want this as much as I do?” Cas found the buttons on Crowley’s shirt and was undoing them with his long, talented fingers. “I wanted to choose this. Do you understand? Can you forgive me now? Now that I’m really mine again, I can _choose_ to be yours.”

God damn it. God damn the man. God damn the angel who would be God, now just a ridiculously hot and stupid man and…

Crowley grabbed Cas’ wrists and held them still. Eyes burning with the rising, terrible wave of heat. Everywhere Cas touched _seared_. God but he wanted this. Cas made his pants tight. Cas always made his pants tight. Made him walk with a limp. Made him want to grab the man and spin him around and bend him over and…

“You ask the dumbest questions since: ‘Why can’t I touch that tree?’...” Crowley pushed Cas’ palms flat to his open-shirted chest, then grabbed Cas’ ass with both hands. Pulled him in close - crotch to crotch - so there would be no mistaking precisely what he felt on the matter. “I swear to God, if you don’t plan on hitting all the bases and then some, you better tell me _right. Now._.”

Cas was panting and he didn’t need a mirror to tell him that he probably looked a mess, all flushed, widely dilated pupils, hair that stood on end in every direction.

“Is that a sports reference, because you should know I…”

He didn’t finish - he had decided his mouth had better things to do and he attacked Crowley’s lips again, sucking on the soft lower one especially hard because it was already swollen and looked good enough to eat. He’d been thinking about that mouth, truth be told, since they had sealed their latest deal. But since Crowley had saved his life - he’d been _dreaming_ about it. Waking up from these dreams with a heavy emptiness in his chest and on his lips.

Crowley raked his hand over Cas’ ass, under his thigh, pulling his leg up and using it as leverage to grind against him. There was too much clothing between them, but that would be dealt with soon enough. His other hand grabbed the back of Cas’ head again and he spun them around, slamming Cas against the opposite wall of the cage. Perk of being a demon, being strong enough to manhandle your partner. Being able to hold them in place as you drag their head back and bare their throat to your teeth and lips.

Cas bucked up against him like a colt in the process of being broken. It felt as if there was no place on his body that Crowley could put his hands that wouldn’t make Cas thrash about in impatient ecstasy. He tore at Crowley’s suit jacket, pulling it off, and tossing it to the opposite end of the cage. 

“Do you like the cage now?” Cas whispered in between increasingly heated kisses. “I’m sorry about… before. I wanted this… for us.”

Crowley paused his little biting trail somewhere under Cas’ jaw to rumble in rough amusement. “You got this cage as a present? For little old me?” His hand moved to tug at the t-shirt (stupid thing, Cas looked much better in formal attire) and pushed his hand underneath to lay flat over his stomach. “When all I got you was a flower? I feel… I feel like I let you down, Cas.” 

The demon nosed his way up, nipping lightly on an earlobe. “So why don’t you tell me how I can make it up to you?” he purred, with a voice born of scotch and sex and old, worn leather.

Cas felt like his mind might explode. He’s spent so long thinking about this very moment. What would it be like? What would he do? What could he possibly say? But in his mind it never went further than the first touch of lips colliding; a large part of him still fearful of being turned away, rebutted, and discarded, like just another meatsuit.

He felt the muscles in his arms and legs shaking, as if he had been holding them at strained attention this whole time, and only now, with the feel of Crowley’s body like a wall against him, he could allow them to relax.

“I need to hear you say it,” Cas whispered. “Tell me you want this too. That this isn’t just my imagination. That you understand. That you _forgive_ me. For what I did in the past too, not just for the trick I had to play on you today. Just… help me, please.” His hands were caressing Crowley’s hair and the sensitive skin of his earlobes. “Please,” he repeated, desperation evident in his voice.

The anguish in his once-angel’s voice dragged Crowley’s mind back from the lust-haze - at least temporarily - and he placed a soft little kiss just behind his ear. “Cas… I don’t know in what crazy world you could possibly think I don’t want this. If you change your mind on me right now, I will let Lucifer out of the Cage _myself_ , because if you don’t let me shag you into a quivering wreck, then I _will_ lose what lingering shred of sanity I have. And if that’s not enough for you, then I don’t know what is.”

He rubbed his thumb over and over in tiny little circles, dipping into his navel (not thinking about other things in other holes, not thinking about it, no, no, no…) trying to soothe the skittishness out of him. Another - softer - kiss. “I… don’t remember how forgiveness works,” he admitted. “It’s been… so long. But for you?” For you, I will try.

The recovering angel smiled up at this from beneath the canopy of his moistened lashes.

“Me too,” he whispered.

Crowley pulled back, to stare him in the eyes. “Cas. I…” Damn. He didn’t even know what to say. Didn’t know _how_ to do this. He just knew he needed to. “Can we stop talking now or do I need to whisper sweet nothings in your ear until you beg me for more?”

They were both terrible at this, that much was obvious. But, perhaps, there was another way they could discover to communicate that worked better for them. Cas yanked at the silken tie, fumbling with the knot, trying to get it off Crowley’s neck, so that he could get to the buttons below.

“A little help would be nice,” he grumbled, grinding up against the demon in a demonstration of an utter lack of patience. “Clothes are…. annoying.” His other hand was tugging at Crowley’s belt. “There are so many things to unbuckle and remove. This is why I only wore this,” he motioned to his simple attire. His jeans were barely held up by the jutting bones of his hips. “ _Only_ this,” Cas repeated, eyes boring into Crowley’s own, willing him to understand exactly how badly he needed to feel the fury about to be unleashed.

Shit. Crowley was not stupid. Not stupid at all. In a flurry of movement, he pushed a hand into the man’s sternum and pinned him to the bars of the cage. And then he snapped his fingers - impatient - and vanished the offending jeans. The hand on Cas’ chest tangled fingers into the fabric and yanked back like someone removing the tablecloth and leaving the expensive crockery in place. A neat little trick, suspending him. Buck naked. 

His eyes wandered triumphantly over Cas’ form. Very nice. Very nice indeed. Crowley had suspected the man was well-endowed, and he’s pleased to have his suspicions (hopes? Yes. Hopes. He can admit that now) confirmed. He whistled lowly through his teeth.

“My, my. You weren’t lying when you said you had to pick a suitably… robust home. Were you?” His grin was Cheshire-Cat wide. Cheshire-Cat with cream. Or about to have cream. He pushed a finger into the mark he’d left on Cas’ shoulder and zig-zagged it down to one nipple then the other… trailing lower but pausing at his hip. 

“I think,” he mused, “that in order for me to forgive you fully… I might need persuading of how… sincere you are?”

A noise very close to a whine escaped Castiel’s nasal passages.

“There’s a considerable disparity in the distribution of clothes, don’t you think?” he asked, feeling aroused out of his mind by the aforementioned stark contrast. One of his hands was still messing around with Crowley’s belt, finally unclasping the loop buckle and drawing it free of the hoops. He wasn’t good at begging with his mouth, but he had no doubt that he was _pleading_ with his eyes. “Come on,” Cas’ voice was a low growl.

“I’m not convinced enough,” Crowley replied, striking his finger lower and trailing through the edge of the thatch of hair. Careful not to brush against his swollen cock just yet. Not yet. “Ask me nicely. Go on, Cas. _Beg. Me._ ”

“I’m very sincerely sincere,” Cas whined, trying to buck into that evasive touch. “Please. Fucking hell, Crowley… I want this. I _need_ this, fuck!”

One fingernail. That’s all he used. One fingernail trailing lazy, bike-track movements over the soft skin of Cas’ cock. Dragging its way to the tip. Scratching a little line down to the slit. Toying just enough to drive him mad.

“What is it you want?” he purred. “What is it you _need_?” He leaned in and breathed in the scent of arousal. The scent of Cas. “Tell me. And maybe I will be merciful, like the God you nearly were…”

Cas shook his head violently, mostly in disbelief that Crowley could have this much self-control. He was practically a drooling, babbling mess himself.

“Dammit… Want you…” The noise in his throat turned into a low-pitched whine again. “Fuck, _please_! Just… touch me. Fuck me. Something, _anything_. Fuck, how can you be doing this…” Cas strained against Crowley’s muscles, capturing his lips with his own again, a triumphant groan settling in his chest.

Crowley decided to relent. Mostly because it felt so good. That and the broken little _hunger_ in his voice. He let Cas gently down to his feet, hand slowly wrapping around his shaft. Grabbing his lip with his teeth and tugging. Hard. Breaking just long enough to snarl against his mouth.

“You want them off? You take them off. Take them off right now. I want your hands on my skin. I want to _feel_ you.”

Oh, did he ever want to feel him. It was the patience of a man - no, a demon - a demon who had spent so long not having what he wanted that when he was offered it… he wanted to be sure. And he wanted to take his time. At least as long as his lingering sanity allowed.

The ground beneath Cas’ feet felt reassuring and lent him a sense of agency. First the shirt came off and was dispensed with. Then - with deft fingers - he quickly undid the fly of Crowley’s trousers, sinking to his knees in front of his lover in the process of lowering the obtrusive material down his hips and legs. He smiled aside to himself, thinking of what it must feel like to Crowley, with his head and face mere inches away from the thing he so desperately wanted to touch and to taste and to have inside him, filling him up. Crowley moved his feet, obligingly, allowing Cas to discard the piece of clothing. It flew across the cage to join the suit jacket on the floor.

He remained on his knees though, face upturned, hands gently rubbing concentric circles into the skin of Crowley’s thighs.

“I didn’t figure you for a boxer briefs kind of guy,” Cas mused, face brushing so gently against the material pulled over his lover’s bits as to be actually purposefully cruel. 

Crowley knotted his fingers in Cas’ hair, hips rocking forwards to brush the fabric harder against his face. “What can I say,” he drawled, “I like feeling free. I like feeling tight. Cas… I like feeling my cock. So. Why don’t you see if you do, too?” 

Okay it was a little crude, but damned if he was going to let Cas tease him. “Or did you flunk out of ‘Undressing People 101’ when you went to Human Lessons?”

“Dean and I never got this far,” Cas whispered, his breath hot against the straining member in such close proximity. He knew that mention of Dean would infuriate Crowley, but if the latter was going to be a huge tease about it, well, Cas couldn’t be bothered to feel _that_ guilty. After all, it wasn’t as if he was planning on withholding. He grabbed the elastic band and pulled it down, drawing the last of Crowley’s clothes off, past his feet, and throwing it onto the pile in the corner of the cage.

He hadn’t really gotten a chance to play around with these appendages that much, aside from his own, and that had caused some embarrassment in the Winchester household. But the thing was right _there_ , and Cas thought it looked so pretty, all swollen for him like that, because Cas did that, he made Crowley hard... and he blushed with a sense of pride, one hand gently cupping Crowley’s balls while nuzzled against his lover’s cock with his face. It felt velvety to the touch and Cas was very inclined to kiss it - so he did.

Lord but that felt good. Felt good to have Cas’ scratchy face rubbing over his cock. It shouldn’t be sexy for a complete goofball to be messing about with his junk like some demented, unworldly, innocent little freak. Even the look in his eyes made Crowley’s heart scrunch up into a little ball. He seemed so damn happy down there, that it would be impossible to resist. 

His fingers massaged at Cas’ scalp, encouraging him to keep going. Resisting the urge to hold him in place and try to just… take… 

“I told you,” he snapped, as the words filtered through. “You weren’t to go fooling around. Am I going to have to burn Dean’s eyes out and remove his fingers one by one?”

The kissing turned into tentative nibbling. “I like it when you’re jealous,” Cas mumbled against the soft skin of the shaft. “But you’re still not allowed to hurt Dean.” Perhaps, Cas thought, he should do something to make Crowley shut up. He started at the tip, circling the head with his tongue, stroking the underside to see what kind of noises he could elicit from Crowley (noises of approval, apparently). Then he placed his lips firmly around the shaft and pulled, hands digging into the bones of Crowley’s hips to keep him in place as Castiel explored the full extent of his newly found abilities to drive Crowley insane.

“And you weren’t allowed to _touch him_ ,” Crowley spat back, not even bothering to hide the bitter taste of envy on his words. The crimson pall of fuck-you-Dean-Winchester-who-won-Castiel?-yeah-me-you-dick. His hands tightened in Cas’ hair as his lover started to get more adventurous, though, and for a moment all he could think about was how _hot_ that mouth was, how warm and soft and how he’d put his tongue in there before and tasted him and how he wanted to ram into his throat and ride his face like a pneumatic drill rides a piece of wood. Drilling it. Over and over. Making holes. Screwing into it. Yeah. Exactly like that, but with less sawdust.

He knew if he let Cas carry on like that for long, that this was going to end up with him snoring in the corner of the cage and likely devil-trapped back in it for revenge. So maybe he should stop. 

In a minute. Better let him get some practice in, first. It would be cruel of him to stop him this soon. Cas might get a complex and worry he wasn’t very good at it. Which he was. “...remind me why I don’t smite him, again?” he said instead. 

Cas moaned around the shaft of Crowley’s cock, sending jolts of mounting pleasure right into the demon’s core. With quite a bit of a flourish involving his sinfully long tongue, Cas popped off the object of his occupation and smirked up at Crowley. “You said ‘No boning sprees,’ you never said anything about no physical contact of any kind.” He grinned, playfully. “Also, don’t smite him because he’s pretty.” _There, that should get a rise out of the King of Hell_ , Cas smirked complacently.

Hellfire and damnation and the castration of wayward, rebellious angel-hosts flashed behind Crowley's eyes. With the hand in his hair he pulled him firmly upright. Making sure Cas had no choice but to slide bodily over him in his ascent to _homo erectus_.

Any lesser man would wilt under the fury on Crowley's face. Fury and... betrayal?

"I'll burn every last memory of him from your mind. And you from his. Now you tell me where he touched you so I can flay the skin from you and grow it back new."

Perhaps it was overkill. But it was all he could do not to disintegrate Dean from right here. Glaring at Cas. Cas was _his_. 

Cas laughed. It wasn't inherently funny (well, it sort of was), but if he knew Crowley, and he liked to think that by now he did, what had just spouted from his mouth was nothing short of a love madrigal.

Instead of replying, he leaned forward, caressing the curves and angles of Crowley's face with his lips and the tip of his tongue. Dipping lower until he could finally flick his tongue against the corners of Crowley's militantly set mouth, so he could share breath with him until the demon forgot that he had no need for air.

"I'm yours," Cas whispered against Crowley's lips, like the bloody mind reader that he must have been. "He's never touched me, not like this," to emphasize what he meant, Cas pressed the flat of his palm firmly into Crowley's behind and squeezed. Yet, for all that it was true, he knew that Crowley had good reasons for his jealousy - he had been betrayed for Dean once before. "I'm only yours," he repeated, driving his point home with short, but probing kisses. "I belong to you. I _chose_ you."

"Because Dean said no."

The petulant, childish stomp of a foot was past his (wavering) lips before self-censorship kicked in. He hated himself for admitting that fear... But Cas? He sort of... made Crowley want to tell the truth. A bit.

"Why me?"

And it was all there. The emotional vulnerability he'd tried to hide. The... fear and self-doubt. The hands holding too tightly.

Crowley... loved Cas. He knew it to be true. He just wasn't sure how or why the feeling was mutual. 

It stung - partially with the truth of it. It wasn't that Dean had said 'No' - Cas never asked. Because as much as he loved Dean, he wasn't at his best with Dean. Dean was bad for Cas, he was only now beginning to truly appreciate the extent of it.

"Because..," he began cautiously, knowing the limitation of human language. "I see myself with you. I like myself with you. I like the way you make me feel. And I trust you. And I know that you'd never really hurt me, even if I hurt you - which - look... I know how much I _have_. But you're _like_ me, in a way which I cannot explain." Crowley was letting him continue, so he kept talking. "Because I cried on that fucking flower when it wilted because I thought I'd never see you again. Look, I... I don't know what else I can say to make you see. It _has_ to be you. We're it: the yin and the yang, and, Crowley, it's..." he paused, looking for the right word. "It's beautiful."

The weight of emotional honesty in Cas' words was crushing. Despite the fear or ease with which he could flee, Crowley never could. Instead he listened. He listened and he sensed no guile whatsoever. No duplicity. Nada.

(Had he not been so blind, last time. Had he seen the cracks. Had he not wanted so badly for it to work...)

But Cas had said sorry. Cas had said sorry and meant it. And Cas... had forced Crowley once again to be a fool and trust him. Only this time? This time he wasn't kicked out. _Flee or die._

This time it was real. Cas didn't just want to use him and go. Cas understood him better than any creature. And Cas thought he was worth taking a chance on.

"Maybe I won't flay him alive," Crowley offered. But his voice was breaking and it was clear. "We could make a deal on that. And seal it with a kiss...?"

Naked as they were. Nose to nose. Crowley's hand sliding up and down from Cas' hip. 

The former angel’s hands were in Crowley’s hair, lovingly raking his fingers through the soft, poorly kept-up tendrils (Crowley’s had other things on his mind of late aside from his coiffeur).

“You don’t need an excuse to kiss me,” Cas whispered, presenting his mouth again as if it was some exotic dish to be admired equally for its aesthetic appeal as for its taste. He pressed his mouth against Crowley’s, allowing the latter to pull him forward, the resultant junction of their flesh causing them to cross swords. Cas whimpered and keened softly into his lover’s mouth. “Take me, come on, no more games.”

First Crowley grabbed Cas' hands. He slammed them up over his head, smothering them with one clenched fist.

"Oh I'll take you alright," he promised. "I'll take you so hard you'll see every star you fell past, my sadistic little sugar lump."

A shunt of his hips reminded Cas of the problem in hand before Crowley stepped just back enough to flip Cas face-first into the bars. Hands still above his head. This gave Crowley a lovely new vista to explore, so his hands shadowed down from shoulders over that broad back before settling to squeeze those heavenly buns. Tight and welcoming and...

"Mine," he growled, fingernails digging in. "I don't need a deal to own you, Cas. You're mine and I don't share."

His palm went flat against the man's ass, and Crowley pushed down so his fingers gently parted Cas' cheeks. He rubbed up and down a few times, wanting to make Cas lose it with want. Judging by the way his former nemesis lordosed into his touch, in such a primal, animalistic way, he was succeeding with great aplomb. 

Cas grabbed on to the bars above his head, using them both for support and to allow himself to give Crowley access to all the places on his body he wanted to feel touched.

“Yeah… I am… yours,” he managed, in between waves of lust that kept hitting him with each brush of Crowley’s fingers. “Dammit, I want you so bad,” he moaned, pressing his forehead to the bars in front of him and bucking backwards. “More, do more to me,” he begged, feeling himself about to lose what little was left of his shit (an expression he’d become rather fond of).

"Patience," Crowley insisted. "I have eternity to do things to you. And I don't ever have to let you die if I don't want to."

But the begging and pleading was nice nonetheless. Crowley's fingers teased Cas' cheeks apart, toying with the bundle of nerves around his lovely little hole. If Cas was as inexperienced as he believed... Well he'd be as tight as a pair of thieves and Crowley's mouth ran dry at the thought.

"I hope you soundproofed the room," he went on, "because if I get holy water in the face for this..." This being his index finger - slick with just a thought - circling and teasing and finally popping into Cas' cherry-pie-ass. Oh god was he ever tight. Crowley moaned at the feel of him. Wanting more than his finger inside him. 

Cas knew that this kind of thing took patience and preparation, but instead he whimpered even more and tried to buck backwards on the slickened finger. He threw his head back, feeling it land against Crowley’s shoulder. He opened his eyes and turned his face right into his demon’s neck, mouthing at it.

“More,” he whispered. “I won’t break, Crowley.” He wasn’t sure, actually, but he figured that if he broke, Crowley would fix him.

Keeping hold of Cas' hip so he could control any sudden movements, Crowley slowly crooked that finger inside and tugged. A few even, careful pushes and he could slide a second one in alongside.

"You'll break when I want you to, blue-eyes, and not a moment before." This punctuated by a sharp jab as he searched inside him for the Mecca of internal places. Why would God put that there if he didn't want people to put things in any hole, Crowley wondered. 

That tore a loud moan out of Cas, making him remember Crowley's other question. "I don't think it's soundproofed at all," he managed to practically whine. He wasn't sure why this was pertinent information except to the fact that he felt himself about to cry out in ecstasy again at the feel of yet another finger breaching him. "Oh, _God!_ " He'd never called his Father's name _quite_ like this before, but he suddenly understood why the humans did it.

"...am I likely to have a Winchester assume I'm taking advantage of you and attempt to assassinate me while I'm buggering you? Because - I can tell you now - nothing puts a fire out faster than attempted murder."

Not entirely true, but it was not the time to argue semantics. Not when he could urge Cas to bend over so he could push deeper into him. So he could push a third finger in, knowing even his patience wouldn't last much longer. 

"Uh..." Cas was trying to force himself to actually _think_. What would happen if Dean actually walked in on this? This being Cas with his ass up in the air, getting fucked in a _cage_ by Crowley. He just didn't see this ending well. And if _Sam_ was to find them, well, then it would probably end up on the internet. Neither option was that appealing. "Just bolt the damn door and fuck me already! Be the King of Doors for a second!"  
Crowley's laugh was heartfelt. "You're such a prima donna. Is that the angel in you, or the sexually frustrated man?"

Still, the room sealed. It would take some doing for any human to trespass now. He briefly considered putting a snide note on the door for Dean to see, but then he decided he had more pressing matters. Very pressing matters.

Matters like removing his fingers and rubbing his happy little cock between Cas' cheeks. But not sliding home yet. No. Reaching around and taking hold of Cas'. "Now, angel, do you like it fast and hard..." he slammed his hand up and down to illustrate, "...or slow and steady..." the strokes tapering down to almost nothing.

Mostly to be a dick one last time. 

Cas shook his head. He hated it when Crowley asked him these probing (ha, a pun!) questions. How was he supposed to know how he wanted it, other than _inside_. “Just fucking fuck me already, fuck!” Cas was glad he’d learned how to swear - he wouldn’t have been able to adequately express himself at that precise moment otherwise.

Crowley placed the softest of kisses to his shoulder, still stroking over his very pretty cock. It was warm and tangible proof of Cas' affection... or at least his lust. Probably the affection part came from the not-killing and the trusting enough to get naked and sweaty around him. Or Cas was just an idiot. He liked to think not.

"Well, how can I resist such an eloquent and thought-out argument? You should be a writer, Cas, your skills are wasted on mindlessly killing supernatural entities that rub you up the wrong way." Pun most certainly intended as he put a hand between them and held his own ramrod-hard dick still for long enough to lean forwards and press into him. Now was when it took his concentration. Now was when he had to focus. Cas opened around him like (stupid poetic analogy, but all he could think of) a flower reaching for the sun, turning to face it and opening up in joy. He bit his lip in concentration as he slowly bore into him. No matter how slow time went in Hell, Crowley was sure this was slower still.

He knew he had asked for it, but he wasn’t truly prepared for it. Cas held on to the bars, his fingers blanching, the joints of his knuckles aching from the strain. His eyes flew open - as did his mouth - in fact, he felt like with the opening of his back door, everything inside him had opened up and tried to suck Crowley in. Deeper. Yes. _More_. He felt so full, so complete, and with the casual stroking of Crowley’s hands over the other overly sensitized part of his body, he felt so _wanted_. “Oh…. _God_ yesssss….” He was so big, his demon lover, and each stroke felt like he was going to melt Cas from the inside, burn him up into a pile of (really sexually satisfied) ashes. 

If this was a sin (which Cas knew for a fact it wasn’t), it very well may have been worth going to Hell for. 

It was difficult to keep the slow, regular movements of his hands over Cas’ cock as he gently eased himself home. Difficult because part of his brain was screaming ‘fuckyesnow’, and the other part was confused why he was trying to do two different things at once with the same level of concentration. But he wanted to. He wanted to, because he wanted to make Cas feel this. He wanted Cas to feel completely smothered with affection and heat. He wanted Cas to feel like he was bloody well flying. And if it meant his brain went into meltdown, then he would just have to deal with it.

“Oh God you’re so tight,” he purred, distracting himself from the monomania by trailing little kisses again where wings once lay. “You should know I am trying very hard not to fuck you to death right now.”

Normal people would probably find the King of Hell admitting that to be somewhat worrying. It would be a wise stance to take, considering he likely could do it without very much effort at all.

“I appreciate that,” Cas gasped, bucking backwards as if he was trying to impale himself to death on Crowley’s cock contrary to his words.

As Cas’ body eased around him - as it sighed into place like he was always meant to be there - Crowley hissed in pleasure. His toes were curling in his - oh he still had his shoes on? Oh well. They curled up happily and he started to uncoil the levels of self-control one at a time. With each push he rode deeper into him, and further out of his mind. Further into Cas. Cas who took everything. Who took his cock like he took his smarm and he took his broken, warped, mutilated excuse for a soul. It made his chest tight again and he slammed harder in retaliation, pushing up with the help of being more-than just human.

“I want to make you scream, Castiel, I want to make you shout yourself hoarse. I want to ruin that sexy voice of yours on the rafters. You think you can do that for me? You think you can bring the roof down with just your throat?”

Cas considered it. If he had still been a real angel, he probably would have brought down the roof, the walls, and the cage around them as well. Such as it was, he still had his enthusiasm for new sensations. “Ohgodyespleasefuck!!!”

He wasn’t sure whether it was his imagination or just the result of the friction (or whether Crowley was doing it on purpose) but Crowley’s cock burned red hot inside him, each stab against his battered prostate bringing with it another shock of heat. It was magnificent. “OHFUCKYESMORE… MORE…” Cas would likely end up mute by the time Crowley was done riding him. He was fine with that. He didn’t need his voice to tell Crowley what he wanted to convey. “My love,” he moaned, feeling his mind and body completely unraveling.

Hearing Cas... hearing that gorgeous, wrecked voice... those delicious words that tasted like fresh, bubbling champagne bathing his ears. Crowley knew he was utterly trapped. Cas didn't need any arcane chicken-scratches on the ground. Didn't need a cage with a lock and a key. Cas had stolen into him and taken up residence somewhere deep and immovable. He was there, in what passed for the broken remnants of his heart.

(It was harder to ignore, recently. It had been fine until he met him. It had just been another empty shelving space inside making room for more cruelty. It hadn't ever _hurt_ because he hadn't ever _let_ it. And then came Cas. Cas and those beautiful eyes. That voice. But more than that... The way he looked at the world with a wonder that someone as old as he shouldn't have. The way he understood some things perfectly and was completely ignorant of others. The way he wore his heart on his sleeve. The way he was not quite angelically perfect, but not quite damned either. And maybe if Sam hadn't bruised his... Soul? Perhaps he'd be able to ignore it. Ignore him. Not... Fall for him.)

From spite, out of revenge, out of love he fucked Cas as hard as he thought his body could take it. He had to hold himself somewhat back as he didn't really want to fuck him to death, but he was more brutal and fierce than was wise or easy to pass off as anything but soul-deep need.

"Cas..." His own voice broken, the feeling seeping through the cracks, welling up like coppery, fluid blood. "OhGodCasyes, yes..." Hand on his cock slipping from rhythmic to staccato. "GodIloveyou, youlittleshit..."

The sudden need for _nowrightnow_ made him jerk Cas furiously hard. He had to get him off. Had to feel him break. Had to do it right damn now. 

The cry froze on Cas' open lips, dying into a silent scream. His vision went white, his cock was already swollen and red (and probably matching his battered asshole), and his whole body seemed to erupt like a long-dormant volcano. For a while, it felt like he was floating, his body collapsing into Crowley's arms, spent and sated and devoid of all thought. 

And that was perfection. That was what Crowley needed to scratch the scab off a hurt so long-seated it was just background noise, a scar so deep he'd mistaken it for the feeling of being alive. He'd done that. He'd made Cas scream in ecstasy. He'd made Cas... Happy. For no reason more than he wanted to. For no reason more than Cas himself.

His own climax was almost secondary to the way the tinyhardnastyknot of fear and hate snapped and Crowley knew. Knew he loved him utterly. Knew he wanted to do whatever it damn well took to make Cas do and feel that again. In Cas' eyes, he was more than just the top of the heap of evil. And he liked that feeling more than the way his cock spent hot and sticky deep inside him.

Crowley smeared Cas' stomach with his own spunk, then slid an arm under each of Cas', bent up so his hands were on his shoulders and he could support him against his chest. Strong he might be. Tall he was not. Still somehow he managed to sit down with Cas held tightly in his arms. He was still buried balls-deep in him and that was good, too. An arm around his waist, the other across his chest. Nose behind his ear.

"I take it you had fun?"

Which was possibly the lamest thing he could have said, but Cas would likely forgive him that as the least of his sins, if he was sensible enough to. 

Cas made some semblance of a noncommittal noise and reached his hand up to idly stroke Crowley's face. "Darling," he muttered and burrowed closer, like some kind of land creature, a vole perhaps. Cas read about voles and admired them for their monogamy. He was very comfortable and wanted to stay that way forever, the layer of sweat and other bodily emissions notwithstanding.

Crowley figured he probably deserved a few campy names of his own, all things considered. No matter how badly they would go down in...

...Go down... In Hell. Which he was still King of. Even if he wasn't quite sure why. It was nothing but trouble. People trying to kill you, people wanting you to sign off on expense claims for goats’ blood, people never appreciating the work you did and your position no more secure than any lower rung of the hierarchy. He should really go back. It's what any low-level self-respecting demon would do. It was not what he wanted to do.

Not when he had a lap full of melted Castiel.

He pushed into the fingers on his face, even as his own idly wandered. Pulling the odd little tickle as they followed lines of sinew and muscle. Just... Touching for the sake of touch.

"I'm not sure I can get you your Grace back," he blurted out. "Turns out Heaven is harder to crack than Purgatory. Or Hell."

Cas wrinkled his nose and curled his fingers around the back of Crowley's neck, trying to keep their faces closer. That sounded important. Like a thing he should be thinking about, but he'd rather just stay there, with his eyes closed, the tickling of Crowley's lips against his ear.

"Wait.... you tried to get my Grace back? Why?" Finally, Cas popped one eye open and tried to adjust to the here-and-now. It didn't make any sense: on the one hand, it was just too dangerous and couldn't possibly be of any use to Crowley, on the other hand - there was no other hand!

"It - I -" Crowley fought down a blush that threatened to seep out over his features. "...better the God you know?" He shrugged, trying to brush it off. "Don't know if it can be done. Maybe it can't." He squeezed him in a little harder. "I might get Heaven back open, though. Then at least the angels will be off all our asses."

It was, quite possibly, the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to Cas, which wasn't saying much. And yet, it meant the world to him. Unless... "It's not because you can't love me like this, right? In my mortal state? You miss my wings? Because it's dangerous, you know, and if you're gonna be risking your ass, you might as well be risking it for a good reason." He turned in Crowley's arms, resting his head in the nook between his chest and his chin. "I can still be of use to you, even like this," Cas mumbled.

It was hard to shake that feeling that'd been programmed into him for so long, that the amount he mattered was tantamount to the amount he contributed. Nothing hurt more than that after the fall, nothing hurt like being _useless_ to Dean. He couldn't bear to feel that way now, now that happiness seemed so perfectly within grasp, if only the mortal, fleeting kind of happiness. He pressed his arms tighter around his demon.

Crowley moved his hand to rub over the bump at the back of Cas’ neck. Where his wings would have been. Where they would have spread. Where they _used_ to lie. He’d seen them every time. Seen the shimmer in the air. He was more acutely aware of their loss than most.

“Cas… you’re still you no matter what form you’re in,” Crowley pointed out. “And if you haven’t noticed, I’m not at the top of the beatific, Pontifical Christmas Card list.” He breathed out through his angel’s hair. No… not angel. Man. 

“I don’t give a damn if you can fly or not. I just… thought you would…” He chewed his lip. “I thought you would miss it. And… and… then you wouldn’t…” Die. One word, and one word only. And Crowley couldn’t even bring himself to say it. Instead he scooped Cas in tighter in fear.

The sound of Crowley’s voice was so soothing, Cas thought he might just lie there, on his chest, and listen to it for all his remaining days. He knew what he was saying, or not saying, actually. Could feel the fear in the tightening of the arms around him. It felt like love. It felt like Heaven.


End file.
